“He used to run to school and run home again,” Tim went on. “He was so fast, he used to overtake the school bus. When he went cross-country running, he actually left the country, which certainly made the headmaster very cross. He’s a brilliant sportsman!”

That just left the two other women.

Brenda Blake was an opera singer and looked it. Big and muscular, she had the sort of arms you’d expect to find on a Japanese wrestler—or perhaps around his belly.

Libby Goldman was big and blond and worked in children’s TV, hosting a television program called Libby’s Lounge. She sang, danced, juggled, and did magic tricks . . . and all this before we’d even left the dock. It was a shame that in real life we couldn’t turn her off.

The journey took about an hour, by which time the coast of Scotland had become just a gray smudge behind us. Slowly Crocodile Island sneaked up on us. It was about half a mile long, rising to a point at what must have been its “tail,” with sheer cliffs sweeping down into the sea. There were six jagged pillars of rock at this end, making a landing impossible. But at the other end, in the shelter of the crocodile’s arm, someone had built a jetty. As the boat drew in, I noticed a security camera watching us from above.

“Here we are, ladies and gentlemen,” the captain announced from somewhere behind his beard. “I wish you all a very pleasant stay on Crocodile Island. I do indeed! I’ll be coming back for you in a couple of days. My name is Captain Randle, by the way. Horatio Randle. It’s been a pleasure having you lovely people on my boat. You remember me, now!”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Eric demanded.

“No, sir. I’m not invited,” Captain Randle replied. “I live on the mainland. But I’ll be back to collect you in a couple of days. I’ll see you then!”

We disembarked. The boat pulled out and headed back the way it had come. The eight of us were left on the island, wondering what was going to happen next.

“So where’s old Rory?” Brenda asked.

“Maybe we should walk up to the house,” Sylvie suggested. She was the only one of them who didn’t have a full-time job. She had told Tim that she was a housewife, and was carrying three photographs of her husband and three more of her house.

“Bit of a pain,” Eric muttered. From the look of him, walking wasn’t something he did often.

“Best foot forward!” Janet said cheerily. Apparently she worked as a hairdresser, and her own hair was dancing in the wind. As indeed was Libby.